


nah, we're just floormates

by soleils



Series: Floor 9 [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bestfriends!Yuwin, First day of classes, Floormates, Friendship, Gen, Mark’s starry-eyed for Jaehyun, Rated for Language/Themes, Slice of Life, They all just give Johnny lots of shit, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-04 16:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleils/pseuds/soleils
Summary: Welcome week is over for the residents of Floor 9 and theyactuallyhave to function like regular college students. Which means acting like a bunch of not-really-real adults who don’t know what they’re doing with their futures, or themselves.





	1. beer and pizza

**Room 904 - 7:30 a.m.**

“Remind me again why you don’t think there’s a problem with eating pizza and drinking beer at 7 am?” The expected look of disgust on Mark’s face was instead an unexpected one of bug-eyed curiosity toward Jaehyun’s Monday breakfast.

The elder grinned between gulps of Pabst Blue Ribbon, a god-awful pairing to cold pepperoni pizza, yet surprisingly satisfying (even though he was still more of a liquor man). Anything goes in college, especially when there’s leftovers from Saturday night’s drunk order to Pizza X at 3 am. Thank God, or capitalism, for college towns with restaurant hours catered to intoxicated insomniacs.

Jaehyun rises from his mini bookshelf-turned-dining and seating, to toss the white and blue striped can onto a crumpled trash bag on the opposite side of his single, while the only proper wastebasket he could afford was doing its job in the bathroom. The blond boy turns to look down to the younger with the cockiest grin plastered on his face, “Mark Lee, these are going to be the best years of your life. You might as well say fuck it and try everything.”

Jaehyun ends up giggling his way through that last part, because he just _can’t_ deal with how big those brown eyes he was staring into had gotten.

“But dude, isn’t that what they say about high school? I had fun in high school.” The innocence in Mark’s voice was enough to warrant acknowledgement from Doyoung, who had just moments ago chucked his phone across the room because he lost to _qtwithabooty_ at Rock Life for the 5 th time this morning, huffing out a _dammit Ten_  under his breath in the process.

“God, _please,_ do yourself a favor and don’t ever say that out loud again. They’ll think you peaked in high school.” Doyoung deadpans, as he rises from the only desk chair in the room to retrieve the abandoned phone, now conveniently lodged underneath Jaehyun’s closet.

He stops next to the two boys, locking eyes with Jaehyun, looking genuinely terrified and shamelessly pleads, “tell me you’ve cleaned underneath that thing before I stick my hand in there.”

“You should’ve thought about that _before_ you decided to throw your phone across my room,” Jaehyun shrugs before adding the ever-important afterthought, “oh, and hurry we don’t want to be the reason Markly is late for his first college class.”

“ _Markly?_ ” Doyoung raised a brow at the pet name, noticing the way Mark suddenly took an interest in the contents of the backpack located away from questioning gazes.

“I-I like it.” He squeaked as he busied himself, rummaging for god knows what.

“Good, because I would’ve called you that even if you didn’t.” And, luckily, Mark turned back around in time to catch Jaehyun’s playful smirk before the blond slung his own bag onto a jacketed shoulder and walked out.

“I’ll meet you guys downstairs in ten, I need to stop by Johnny’s” echoed down the corridor and into the open room as Doyoung resumed the task of retrieving his phone, and Mark found whatever it was he was pretending to look for.

“You really should learn how to control those stars in your eyes, _Markly._ ” Doyoung snickers, oblivious to the fact that he looked ridiculous on the carpeted floor,arm deep into the void that had sucked up his phone. “They’re telling.”

“I wasn’t eve-”

_Bang._

Doyoung had managed to push the rouge iPhone even further back, the sharp bang signifying it had met the corner, and saving Mark from further explanation.

“ _Fuuuuuck,”_ he heaved. He was _already_ over it. This wouldn’t be happening if Ten would’ve let him win _one_ round. Why was that charming asshole even awake this early? Now he was stuck with his precious phone just out of arms reach, surrounded by questionable debris and Mark, out of all people, laughing at his fucking struggle.

“Dude, this is karma.” Mark’s giggling was starting to grate his nerves.

“Shut up and just help me move this closet so we can get to _your_ class on time.” His tone dark enough to spring the youngest to action, as if the latter had forgotten they had class in half an hour.

But, not before Mark helped a disgruntled Doyoung dislodge his arm from the dusty void.

Five minutes and an overexerted Doyoung later, his phone was safely back into his arms. With phone secured and making sure that everything was unplugged and turned off ( _Mark do you not know what a short circuit is? Jaehyun may not care if this dorm burns down, but I do. Idiot.),_ Mark grabbed his basic black NorthFace as Doyoung gave it a disapproving look while adjusting his own characteristically sleek, navy messenger bag over his shoulder. They made their way toward the lifts, located in the middle of their dorm floor. It was a silent ride down, as drowsiness, seeping out from the closed doors around them, followed them into the lift and flirted with the pair.

The sun had only just started to rise when Mark and Doyoung had joined Jaehyun for breakfast earlier, so the warm blanket of a late-summer morning was keeping most of Briscoe’s residents soundly in bed.

Mark was hopeful. Maybe it was just a side effect of the imminent crash from the high of waking up excited (or nervous, he couldn’t tell) at 5 am, or the fact that he lucked out having his first class with two of his floor mates, or even just because everyone he had met so far seemed so _nice,_ he wasn’t worried. He was determined to have this first week of classes go by smoothly, having heard from the others that syllabus week was always the best week.

The ding of the lift reaching the ground floor pulled Mark out of his head, and the boys found themselves walking into a dim lobby, with Jaehyun nowhere in sight.

“Don’t worry your starry little eyes _Markly,_ I’ll call him.” Doyoung threw a wink (which was more of a blink) in Mark’s direction, receiving an eye roll in response as he lazily dialed the missing boy’s number. He was only 5 digits in when they ended up face to face with Jaehyun and a girl Mark had never seen before, coming out of the second lift. “And to think I was _almost_ worried Johnny had finally gotten to you,” the purple haired boy grumbled, eyeing the hoodie the girl was wearing, as she silently slipped by the trio and left the building without so much as a glance in their direction.

“Sorry. You know Johnny’s an ass, I got held up.” The blond shrugged, with the usual unreadable grin tugging at his plump cheeks.

Jaehyun was good at that. Almost _too_ good at masking everything with either a grin or a blank stare, making sure nothing slipped through his façade, keeping every one content (enough) with his external state.

So simple exchanges like this between the upperclassmen always left Mark shifting his eyes between them, trying to read what they were even implying, because Johnny was always nice to him. But as Floor 9’s RA, Johnny _had_ to be, right? Mark was fresh meat after all. Not that Johnny, or the rest of his floor mates, thought of him that way. But they did warn him.

Or maybe Mark just wasn’t welcome to the unspoken promises between the others. _Yet._ Frankly, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be. It felt _too_ intimate, even if Mark’s nature caused him to desperately cling to the idea of belonging to the niche of Floor 9.

The slender hand wagging in front of Mark’s face brought his eyes back to focus, realizing he probably looked like a drooling idiot, spacing out while looking in Jaehyun’s direction. When it wasn’t like that. It’s _not_ like that. _At all_.  Jaehyun does have a _really_ nice smile though. God, everyone just has such _nice_ smiles. Even Doyoung.

And there Doyoung was, lowering his hand, wearing that all-knowing, smug ass grin. “Come on kid, we only have 20 minutes to walk to class.”

It’s almost sitcom-y how unlikely of a trio they are. A composed neurotic with a piecing gaze, a self-assured paradox who had all but given up, and a starry-eyed freshman with the world’s weight on his shoulders. And here they were starting the trek toward the center of campus to their first class of the semester.

They’re more than half way there when the obnoxious synthetic buzzing of Mark’s phone cuts through the crisp morning atmosphere, and he looks down to the illuminated screen. Much to Jaehyun’s amusement he looks over the boy’s shoulder to see twitter notifications pouring in; Johnny’s posting a thread on How to Communicate with Your Very Different Floor Mates at 7:50 am. The serene balance of the morning is thrown off even further as Jaehyun breaks into a fit of laughter, earning an audible teeth sucking from Doyoung. The confusion on Mark’s face turns to annoyance when in between breaths Jaehyun asks, “ _You_ have Johnny’s RA twitter notifications on?”

“ _God,_ Mark that’s _adorable.”_

 

 

**Room 906 - 7:40 a.m.**

_Mmm. You’re even comfier to wrap around the morning after…_

Yuta smacked away whatever was attempting to crawl up his jaw, not bothering enough to open his eyes, too preoccupied with the slow pulsing making its way across his skull. No doubt the familiar parting gift that Fireball always left him the next morning.

_What the fuck was that Yuta?_

Last time he checked, hearing voices wasn’t a symptom of hangovers, but then again he never took a biology class seriously.

His eyes shot open to a barrage of light, immediately shooting nails of pain into his temples. “Fuck, my organs really must be fucking shot if I’m hallucinating.” Yuta deadpans to the female figure now above him.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

He didn’t think his next response through, not taking into account that he was in a position to lose, considering he was naked, with a killer headache, and an already irked girl on top of him. He really _should_ work on that. But he won’t.

“And you’re still here?”

If rancor was personified, then they would have already killed Yuta. Five times over.

He wasn’t sure if the leftover concoction in his system was to blame for viewing the change of mild annoyance on the girl’s (unidentified) face to outright ballistic in feature film-esque slow motion, but it did give him time to slide out from under her onto the much more emotionally and literally stable carpet.

The unnamed girl towered over him, and he noticed just how pretty her body looked from this angle, a reminder of why his dick had led him up to this point, yet again. If he could compare her to anything it would have to be a smooth classical marble statue, the nude variety. Disappointingly enough, this tragic statue spit.

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me. We’ve fucked more than I can count, I let you and your slimy friends into _my_ parties and I still get the same treatment as the rest? You probably don’t even remember my name.” She snarled, tapping fresh scarlet acrylics—that must have looked devilishly pretty wrapped around his neck last night—against crossed forearms.

Well, she wasn’t wrong. Except for the slimy bit, he was the only one worthy of that honorable title.

But, the one thing he did remember from last night was making sure to scribble her name on the inside of his right wrist, one of the most thoughtful things he had done for a quick (multiple) fuck in a long time. He checked his wrist, but much to his dismay, the name was muddied, smudged by sweat and disrupted sheets. There goes his saving grace.

 _Fuck._ It was the only thing that he could manage to breathe out, before watching the girl (he made a mental note to nickname her Statue) storm out, still naked. But, not before she swung open his closet door, conveniently positioned next to the door, tugging at whatever she could get her hands on and leaving a trail of his clothing down Floor 9. Another unwelcome parting gift that he deserved.

Statue could have _at_ _least_ slammed the door shut behind her.

In a surprisingly swift motion for the hungover mess he was, he rose, making it to the doorframe just in time to see Statue slide his favorite hoodie on with a venomous scowl and slip into the lift. How nauseating. Or maybe it was the way Taeyong’s door across the hall was violently warping into the carpet that was making him light-headed.

_I’d be one unlucky bastard if Taeyong walked out right about now._

Although it wasn’t likely. He had watched Taeyong enough to know he didn’t willingly leave his room while there was anyone he was uncomfortable with in the hallway. And Yuta definitely wasn’t on the comfortable list. Which had something to do with Yuta drunkenly humping some guy from Floor 8 on Taeyong’s door at 3am one night, just as the latter was coming back from the laundry room behind the lifts. Like, who fucking does laundry at 3am? Taeyong was supposed to be _in_ his room doing whatever the fuck he usually does with that impossibly alluring face of his. It wasn’t Yuta’s fault the first time they were face to face, was while he was _sucking_ face, ok. It was the Fireball. It’s always the fucking Fireball. And because of Fireball and floor 8 boy, they haven’t been face to face since. Everyday that door is closed to him, the boy behind it fascinates him even more, and he can’t fucking shake it. No matter how many faces Yuta goes through to drown that horrible expression of quiet anger from his memory, those onyx eyes always find their way to him when he’s sleeping, eating, kissing, fucking, and they’re driving him mad.

Yuta was just to about to lose to his heavy lids, say fuck it and take a nap among his discarded clothing right in the middle of the hallway, when the soft click from a door opening next to him alerted him to Sicheng’s presence, the sudden draft pushing down whatever it was he was even feeling.

“How hilarious would it be if Taeyong opened his door right now?” The other boy smirked, holding up a bottle of water to Yuta’s lips.

“Shut up. I want him to see me naked, but not like this.” That came out a lot more defeated than he had intended, but seeing Taeyong’s name and the throbbing headache made worse by Statue had him feeling out of character.

Sicheng closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist, knowing that the one thing Yuta needed right now was something warm to lean on.

“Wanna take a nap with me before class?” He said as he smiled into Yuta’s hair.

“I’d love to.” Yuta shifted, speech muffled as he buried his face in Sicheng’s chest. “But you have to dress me if you don’t want Kun seeing me in your bed naked.”

“Deal.” Sicheng paused, creating just enough space between them to maintain eye contact. “You know, you’re going to have to see Taeyong again…eventually.”

Yuta pulled away from the other’s comfortable embrace. He wanted to avoid any more talk about Taeyong, and whatever the hell was, or wasn’t, between them. Nothing had even happened. Taeyong didn’t know him, and didn’t want to. He could live with that.

Well, hopefully, until one of them moved out.

“ _Shit,_ was that Johnny’s door I just heard unlocking?” He tried, ignoring the eye roll aimed at his thinly veiled deflection. “Come on, help me throw all this back in my room so we can nap.”

 

 

**Room 902 - 7:50 a.m.**

Johnny peeled the vandalized The Lorax themed name tag off his door, cursing Yuta under his breath. Good thing he keeps backups for everyone’s tags, _especially_ his. He’d already gone through five of the little orange dudes and every time he threw their mushroom dick covered faces in the trash if felt like he was living in a tragicomedy. Yuta could at least learn how to draw cuter dicks. Dumbass.

The only reason he was even outside of his room this early was the suspicious noise that had come from the other end of the floor, where, of course, Yuta’s room was located. But the dicks on his door needed to go before he wasted any more time on that idiot.

It sucked being interrupted (for the second time this morning) from the scheduled cuddling he did with Ten before their midday classes, but duty called right? And Ten had already woken him up with the sound of frantic fingers tapping glass, in pursuit of damaging Doyoung’s ego and for Rock Life glory, or something like that. 

Ten poked a drowsy head out into the hall.

“Are you coming back to bed?” The bed-headed boy asked in between yawns. How fucking _cute_.

“Yeah. Just give me a second, I kind of want to check out the other side just to make sure everything’s o–” But before Johnny could finish his thought, Ten's ringtone of the week tinkled softly from inside the room, stealing his attention from Johnny and slipping back into the room with an apologetic smile. 

Ugh, he could feel himself turning into one of _those_ RAs. Yikes, this is probably why they guys always chose to hang in Jaehyun's room and not his, even though his was cooler, and bigger, but whatever.

Johnny walked back into the room to see Ten struggling to get a crimson and creme hoodie over his head, not realizing its strings had been tied into a bow.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?" He really could've just sat there with a goofy smile on his face and watched the other boy struggle, because the sight was all too endearing. 

A sigh muffled by the over-sized hoodie escaped  from Ten's lips. "A little help here?  _Please_ _?_ I have to leave early today."

 _"_ Why? Is everything ok?" He asked, swiftly pulling the hoodie off, undoing the culprit that had been stretched tight and sliding it back on Ten as if taking care of each other was the standard. 

"Yeah, it's just Hansol, he got called in to sub an early class and he needs me to TA this session too." Ten was already moving faster than 5 minutes ago, glancing down at the time on his phone. "I'll see you later? Usual place?"

"I'll be there. But if you want Jaehyun alive don't be late." He deadpanned, only half joking.

Ten threw him a sly smile before mouthing  _sorry_ and leaving Johnny's room even more hollow than usual.

Johnny grumbled, "tell Hansol I need you more, next time" to no one in particular, before settling back into bed and updating Floor 9's twitter account to his huge following of one. 

 

 


	2. saturation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never listened to [Waste](https://youtu.be/r3poiuXdKIQ) by Brockhampton I strongly recommend giving it a listen before you read this chapter (do it for dotae).

**Room 901 – 10:52 a.** **m** **.**

He was running late, but the fact that he could still hear music coming from the common room across the lifts kept him in place behind the peephole of his door. He had meticulously shaped his schedule to have classes right in between the morning and evening flux of students droning around campus.

It’s not that he didn’t _like_ his floormates. Because he did like (most of) them. And he did _want_ to be closer to them. Or at least have a normal conversation with them. But it was just a lot easier to avoid the awkwardness of small talk and weird cordial half-smiles all together. Especially after Karaoke night. Which he had taken the majority of welcome week to talk himself into—and Johnny showing up at his door the day of and unintentionally guilt-tripping him—because yeah, Taeyong hadn’t gone to any of the other floor events, except for the mandatory meeting on move-in day. But even that was spent wordlessly and studying the people who he had been thrown into a petri dish with.

So, he went to stupid karaoke night. It was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be uneventful. He was supposed to slump into an armchair the whole night, silently nodding every time his new floormates acknowledged his presence, and just observe how they all changed around him. He wasn’t supposed to have accepted the first drink Jaehyun had shoved into his hand. Or the second. Or third. But he did. Because he wasn’t _boring_. He could try. But by the time Taeyong noticed the dimmed mini-stage no longer washed in bouncing technicolors, and the end of the early 2000s hits playlist melt into a simple chord coming from an electric guitar resonating through the speakers, warmth had already spread from his throat to the tips of his fingers and toes, radiating from his chest. Doyoung had slipped into the sole spotlight, liquid confidence coloring his cheeks, the residents of floor 9 comfortably entwined in each other, anticipating the first honeyed note to drip from the tenors’ lips. And Taeyong in the middle of it all.

_Waste_.

Goosebumps erupted on Taeyong’s skin, immediately recognizing the words cascading against him. His breath hitched, reluctant to disturb the waves around him, no longer aware of anyone else other than Doyoung. He was drowning. Exposed bare and stripped of the outward control he prized above all else. The bass line and drum set turned torrential, layered against airy, ethereal vocals delivered by a softened gaze, returning air to Taeyong’s submerged lungs as the atmosphere settled with the receding water. And at the end of it all, as soon as the chords faded into nothing, Taeyong was left shivering at the sudden shock of being reintroduced to the crisp air of the entertainment lounge. Staring right into Doyoung’s eyes as if that performance was only for the two of them.

So, if he could avoid as much unnecessary human contact he would. He had run away that night, disappearing up to his room before risking a collision, so he wasn’t going to willingly expose himself to Doyoung this time.

Time was still flowing and he had to leave sooner or later because missing class wasn’t an option. The stairs to his right were quiet. Flying down 9 flights wasn’t his preferred method of getaway but it was discreet. He reached down to open his door, realizing his hands were trembling and pushed his simple black earbuds in. In an attempt to drown his nerves he let that same song from that night pour into his body from the tiny speakers, nowhere near as beautiful as he thought it was before had been exposed to Doyoung's version. He stood with his hand on the door knob for a few moments, realizing Waste would never be the same for him again. Taking one last deep breath he slipped soundlessly from his room to the stairs, before taking one last glance down the hall toward the common room, too far to distinguish who was in there.

Even though the reverberating of a familiar bass line distracted the only person in the common room, Doyoung had a clear view of the right wing hallway from the seat he had taken to study Music Theory.  He didn't know what possessed him to look up at exactly that moment, a reflex reaction probably, to look up just in time to witness a certain pink-haired boy curiously taking the stairs.

 

**Floor 9 Lifts – 1:45 p.m.**

“We could’ve just waited for him in my room. I really don’t get why you hate it so much.” Jaehyun stated it mindlessly, crossing his arms behind his head as he stretched.

_He’s just pretending to be clueless to annoy the shit out of you_ , Johnny reminded himself as he ignored Jaehyun’s comment, choosing to preoccupy himself with smashing the close door button after the other boy followed him into the lift. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing him willingly alone with Jaehyun, or worse, being spotted by Doyoung, and having to deal with him asking what the fuck Johnny looked so on-edge for every time he was with Jaehyun. He was already paranoid that everyone knew.

God, why was Ten always so fucking _late_. Their "usual place" in Jaehyun’s room after midday classes. All three had gotten into the habit of eating together at Forrest in the afternoon, but the atmosphere was always dangerously unbalanced when it was just Jaehyun and Johnny alone. He didn’t feel like the senior and Jaehyun never acted like the junior.

It had been 8 days since the foam party before welcome week—the day before move-in day—before Johnny was officially floor 9’s RA, and neither of them had said a word about it to each other. Not that he was counting, or that he cared. It was a one-time thing. It was no big deal. The athletes that overrun Briscoe quad, because of its proximity to the stadium, decided to throw a surprise foam party in the basement/event room the football and soccer teams had rented out. Lucky for Johnny and Jaehyun, they had moved in right on time for floor 9’s token soccer player Yuta to invite them. And for the newly acquainted pair to get hammered enough to ditch the party all together, escaping up to the ground floor in their drunken daze, giggling and wiping the foam that stuck to their bodies off each other, walking into the same lift they were presently in. Listen, the only reason Johnny initiated the sloppy kiss was because drunk Jaehyun was a lot more tolerable than sober Jaehyun, but that was beside the point. RAs aren’t supposed to go around making out with the rest of their floor. It was unprofessional. And Jaehyun not remembering, or pretending not to, was a _relief_.

“So this chick was eyeing my dick print today. She was pretty hot.” The sudden sound of Jaehyun’s voice filling the lift made Johnny conscious of just how small the space they were enclosed in was. It was as if the lift sensed an unnecessary conversation starting and decided to descend at an even more lethargic pace.

“Good for you.” His eyes were glued to the floor counter moving really fucking slowly, but anything was better than meeting Jaehyun’s playful gaze.

But of course, the junior couldn’t take the hint. And they wonder why he’s tired of Jaehyun’s shit. 

Jaehyun moved from the corner of the lift to right in front of the doors, and turned to face his RA. He was going to get at least some kind of reaction before they reached the lobby, because otherwise Seo just avoided him like the plague. Which was half due to Johnny being tired of Jaehyun’s shit and the other half…still Johnny being tired of Jaehyun’s shit.

But, just like any college student with a minor narcissist streak, he needed, and wanted Johnny’s attention. And he hand’t forgotten the kiss. Because who could’ve forgotten a kiss like that? He liked them sloppy. 

Jaehyun was still gazing into Johnny’s face when he started to snap the elastic of his own grey Champion sweats.

He continued, “sweats really make the little man—or should I say _big_ man—look good.” Johnny was still looking over him at the floor counter now above the smirking blond’s head, as if the elder’s life depended on it. “Don’t they?”

_Come on Johnny, I know you want to play along._

“Don’t make me lose my appetite.” Johnny gulped, finally tearing his eyes away from the descending numbers and trailing them down to where Jaehyun kept snapping elastic against skin.

Jaehyun wasn’t about to lose this rare opening where Johnny actually took the bait. He closed the gap between them, causing Johnny to reflexively take a step back. Unfortunately for the flustered RA there was no space to step back into, and he was quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. Jaehyun’s familiar lips were inches away from his, enticingly parted just the slightest amount, mocking him. But he just _couldn’t_ bring himself to push the blond away. He was too fucking powerful.

Johnny’s breath hitched, trying oh-so-hard to speak, “Jae—”

_Ding._

Jaehyun immediately peeled himself away from Johnny, turning without a glance back to check if the other boy was still breathing. Saved by the fucking bell. The lift doors opened to a panting, oblivious Ten, pouring out endless apologies for the bus leaving him once again, cursing the fact they lived in the farthest dorm on campus.

Honestly, it was so much easier when it wasn’t just the two of them.

 

**Room 908 – 3:00 p.m.**

_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue,_

_Kun isn’t going to keep me from you._

_\- N.Y._ _♡_

“Charming” Kun notes impassively, as he eyes the poetry written on the mini-whiteboard on Sicheng’s door. “A creative ahead of our time.”

“ _Isn’t_ he?” Sicheng aims a tooth-rotting smile at Kun, knowing the love notes Yuta always left were for both of them.

“Yeah, the call for attention really adds to his charisma.” He said with an eye roll as he gently shoved Sicheng into the room.

Kun had run into Sicheng in front of the Musical Arts building after an appointment with professor Moon. Usually they went to Taeil’s office hours together, since Sicheng had him for Music Theory and Literature I, while Kun had been paired with the professor for a mentorship. But then Kun had started noticing the young professor seemed a little _too_ engrossed with what Sicheng had to say every time they met. Not that he was jealous or anything, but he didn’t get off to others drooling over his boyfriend in front of him, especially not the soft charming professor type. Sicheng already had too many dreamboats in his life, and Kun wasn’t about to enable another one this year. So Kun went to the appointments alone, and Sicheng stuck to just a few hours of week in class with Taeil, oblivious to his admirer. And to make up for the lost together-time Kun was just always over at Briscoe. It was painfully far from Forrest Quad, but anything for love, right?

“Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?” Sicheng asked, as he sprawled out onto the billows of a ridiculously luxurious comforter for a humble twin bed.

“Depends. Is Yuta going to be there serenading love songs? Because if so, yes.” Kun dropped his bag next to the bedpost, climbing on top of the laughing boy.

It sounded like bells. Kun’s favorite.

“Hmm,” the tinkling quieted as Sicheng focused onto the face above him, “should I call him over right now then?” Sicheng searched Kun’s features, always amused by the others’ attempts to cover his possessive nature.

Kun sighed as he fell into the open space left on the bed. He wasn’t going to let Sicheng play with him before dinner. “You know, Forrest Quad really is the better dorm” he stated plainly toward the ceiling.

“Then why are _you_ the one always over.”

“Because Floor 9 is already messy enough without me.”

 

**Center Lobby (Briscoe Quad) – 8:15 p.m.**

The drug dealing frat bro held the top spot in Doyoung’s ranking of favorite walking clichés on campus. The freshman frothing at the mouth, rabid from freedom and the tragically average student fighting against their mediocrity, were close second and third. _Oh,_ and honorable mention went to the illusive creative who just wanted to get their overpriced art degree and go.

But this year his floor was full of multifaceted humans, juniors, seniors and just one wide-eyed freshman with textures that weren’t meant to stick together, but by some miracle Johnny had managed to apply just the right amount of pressure during the lab that was welcome week to make it happen. It was a haphazard job that left room for them to shift to more comfortable places among each other, even among the underlying awkwardness of all the shit Johnny had them do together.

But he wouldn’t be caught dead telling Johnny he was a good RA. Mark had that covered for the rest of the year.

He glanced at the tiny bunny desk clock suffocating among the limited space that was his behind the front desk. Ten had bought them all animal themed clocks during what he said was a drunk-off-wine midnight run to the Target 10 minutes from campus ( _They were all lined up, just staring at me like I was some horrible person if I didn’t buy them at that exact moment, ok? I saved them_ ).

It had only been fifteen minutes into his shift, and he could already tell it was going to be a dead night. God, only 3 hours and 45 more minutes left to go. He groaned, annoyed Sicheng had skipped out on the partnering shift, but there wasn’t anyone to police them about tiny shit like that. Even though he had sent an email (read: several emails) last year to RPS about how irresponsible it was to not have proper management in their quad after a sophomore had bailed and left him alone to deal with the all the idiots who decided to wait until the day before holiday break to pick up their mail and report damages. But Briscoe was mostly upperclassmen after all so it left him ample amount of time to play Rock Life on the clock.

“That game isn’t even that fun you should try Flappy Dunk.” Johnny had, for once, managed to walk somewhere undetected. Judging from what he was wearing, Johnny had comeback from the gym. Something their RA only did if he had some repressed…frustration. And he had just caused Doyoung to flinch, earning himself an unnecessarily load sigh.

“Well, thanks for _that._ ” Doyoung pushed his phone away, replacing it with a pen to satisfy the gratifying need to fumble. “Pause. You think I play this for just _fun_?”

“Uh...yeah.”

Doyoung scanned Johnny, remnants of an unusually hard workout confirming what was painfully obvious—their RA needed to get laid.

“Considering I get my ass handed to me by Ten every time I play online, no I don’t fucking enjoy it, most of the time. It’s just a coping mechanism to deal with some things. Exactly like your lonely gym sessions after a morning of cuddling with Ten. And whatever else causes you to get...blocked” he said matter-of-factly.

“I—How do you even know about that?”

“Where everyone gets their information about you—Jaehyun. And I mean, the rest is just pretty obvious.” Doyoung smiled, it was always entertaining to see how even mentioning both of their names caused the slightest pink flush of embarrassment to creep up on Johnny’s face. He had to really be paying attention to catch it, but the first time he noticed, every subtle mannerism of Johnny’s became that much more interesting.

Amidst the flustered mutterings of Johnny, Yuta parades into the lobby, alone, wearing simple practice gear and a Nike drawstring bag—it _would_ be Adidas but the varsity soccer coach would tear the players a new one if they weren’t using sponsored equipment—immediately noticing his _favorite_ person to fuck with (and Doyoung) in a conversation he wanted to be a part of.

“I’m really going to kill him” Johnny finally manages to coherently get out.

“Killing? A him? John, I really did always take you for a sadist.” Yuta looks to Doyoung for a silent _let’s fuck with Johnny_ agreement before adding, “And breath-play. He’s absolutely a choker.”

Doyoung shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly, “he’s not wrong. I see how you look at Ten’s neck when he wears chokers.” He taps the bunny clock with the pen fumbling between his fingers and shamelessly adds, “And I don’t even want to _think_ about how many times you’ve fantasied about your hands around Jaehyun’s throat.”

“ _Jaehyun?”_ Yuta wasn’t expecting that one. His eyes widened, a smirk appearing on his lips. “You’re already struggling to fuck Ten but _Jaehyun_ too? Damn.”

“Can you both just shut the fuck up, we’re just floormates. Let me get my fucking mail.” The subtle flush from before had bloomed to reach his ears.

“ _Uh oh,_ someone’s _mad_.”

Doyoung smiles wickedly at Yuta before pushing himself off the desk and rolling away to where he usually placed Johnny’s mail. He always made sure to pull John’s mail separately because, come on, they all did little things to make their RAs life easier, to make up for all the shit they gave him, and were going to give him this year. He tugs a rubber band off one of the bunny’s ears, rolling the assorted letters before adding, “here since you want to be such a _dramatic_ ass Aquarius.”

“A _what_?”

 

**Room 910 – 10:02 p.m.**

Literally the only bad thing about being so far away from his parents was not having a clean bathroom. He could do the laundry thing and the eating thing easy (with some help from Johnny) but all the way from elementary school to high school he was convinced bathrooms didn’t get dirty. Didn’t they just magically self-clean? It makes complete sense for the place where he gets clean, to clean itself.

Needless to say, week old grime was compounding on tile and he really should call his parents and ask them how a bathroom is cleaned. Because on top of everything else, he was pretty sure whatever he just dumped into the toilet was a biohazard. It _reeked_ —he should lay of his diet of just goldfish and nature valley bars for a bit, or forever—but his parents didn’t think to send Febreze in his move-in day care package because they had all backwardly hoped he would be on a floor with a community bathroom.

What he did have was a 6-pack of Axe body spray ( _Dark Temptation)_ fresh from his Amazon Prime subscription. It had spray in the name so that meant it was basically the same thing as Febreze. Right? Right. The _worst_ that could happen was him smelling like he bathed in spicy hot chocolate and that wasn’t exactly a negative.

Being the thorough student he was, he made sure his room door and windows were closed but not his bathroom door, because he wanted it to have the impact of a smoke bomb. But not literally. Judging from his extensive usage in high school, he knew that one can of Axe lasted him a good month. _If_ he didn’t have PE early in the day, because if he did it only lasted him, like, 2 weeks tops. So, one full can for the bathroom and one full can for the rest of his single seemed pretty reasonable.

He grabbed the DBZ tee hanging off a side of his laundry basket and tied it behind his head, covering his nose and mouth. The amount of Axe he was about to spray was probably lethal if he inhaled it directly. He paused in front of the full-length mirror noticing how freaking _sick_ he looked with half of his face covered—he should order a dope facemask—before opening the Amazon box he had stored under the sink. Unwrapping the first can, he gave it a good shake and stood in the doorway of the bathroom so he could spray vertically and in one place. The sickly-sweet mist cut through the stench, swirling within the sub-space. He jumped back and quickly tossed the now empty can in the trash and shut the bathroom door to let the spray settle and (hopefully) penetrate through the filth. Next up was the rest of his room. He grabbed the second can, shaking this one even harder than the first (maybe that helped it work better, who knows) and started in the corner farthest from the main door—where his bed was located. Since he was only using one can for his whole room he worked fast, moving his arm in a horizontal zig-zag hopping the tiny scent particles were sticking to everything and anything. His eyes had started watering from the notes of black peppercorn, and the kinda-really obvious smog building up in his room. And he hadn't noticed it being extra smoggy around the white circular thing in his room that beeped from time to time. He was practically half-way done and plenty of Dark Temptation to finish the job when something started chirping. Nonstop. Really fucking loudly. And then the flashing started. And then the sirens. The fucking sirens.

The fire alarm was fucking going off.

_Fuck. F u c k. The dorm’s burning. This isn’t a drill._

He was frantic, throwing his door open and running into the hallway, bringing with him a cloud of axe colliding with fresh air.

But there wasn’t a soul in sight in the hallway. Where was the panic? Where was his RA?? Was Johnny really going to let them all burn down like _this_? The fire could be anywhere.

A few beats later, Mark still frozen in place in the middle of the hallway, agitated by the lack of frenzy from the rest of his floor. Then off beat clicks from doors around him opening brought him back to lucidity, meeting face to face with what looked like a groggy and pissed Johnny.

“Mark, can you tell me why the fuck I just got woken up by these sirens, why I just got a call from RPS telling me firetrucks were on their way and to calmly escort my floor _and_ alert all the RAs below us to evacuate by stairs?”

So. The dorm wasn’t burning. And Axe is definitely not Febreze.

Mark looked down at the can of Axe still in his hand and then back into his room which, in the smoke alarm’s defense, did look as if a smoke bomb had just been set off. Which, was the goal, but…not this literally.

“Axe. Dude, _seriously_?” The question came from a chuckling brunet he had never seen before, tall and with weird ears.

The annoyingly handsome guy was now standing behind Johnny, among Ten and Sicheng who were the only ones currently on the floor—or had cared enough to leave their rooms to see if they were actually going to burn—and they were all fixated on the stupid can Mark was holding. And all Mark could do was stare back at their amused gazes, wide-eyed and blank.

Johnny let out a deep sigh, not having the heart to stay pissed at his idiotic, but well-meaning freshman. He pulled down the tee from Mark’s face before putting a hand on his shoulder, “listen, when they called I had a feeling it was something dumb so I told them a dumbass pulled the alarm by accident. Plus, I heard you spraying through the walls, you know they’re paper thin.

Well that’s a relief. He would’ve been known as the guy who made his whole dorm evacuate because he need air freshener after taking a huge load for the rest of his years here. That wasn't dope. 

He probably should text him mom about that Febreze now.


	3. liminal

**Room 901 – 1:56 a.m.**

The last person Taeyong expected to see in the hallway was Mark. Especially not when Mark was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest and head buried in his arms, with a small otter themed notebook at his feet.

_Just walk past him, don’t be weird about it._

But his mesh laundry bag was too full to carry higher than his waist, making it impossible to pass Mark without disturbing him.

Mark looked up, fresh-faced like he hadn’t been awake and socializing for 18+ hours. It’s like the kid thrived on it.

“Oh hey!”

Yeah, hey. Not like it was almost 2 a.m. or anything. And not like he had just disrupted Taeyong’s only time he could safely do laundry. But he really couldn’t be _that_ annoyed at someone who owned an otter notebook.

“Hey.” He responded, shifting the laundry bag to his right side.

Mark couldn’t help but notice how the corners of Taeyong’s mouth ever so slightly tugged upwards into a shy smile. Their greetings dissolved into the quiet of an unconscious floor, one of them fixating on a cobalt laundry bag and the other on an otter themed notebook.

“Do upperclassman usually do laundry this late?” Mark made an attempt to continue the conversation, considering this was the first time he’d actually seen Taeyong since their floor meeting last week.

He thought he had seen him at Karaoke night, but he wasn’t there when the lights came back on after Doyoung had sung the las song of the night. Taeyong was pretty much a mystery to most of them. Johnny had told him the bare minimum on the senior, how he was majoring in something to do with writing and minoring in something to do with music and that he kept to himself. And that Yuta did something to actually piss the calm boy off.

“It’s the only time I have to do it.”

That was a lie. But Taeyong really needed to get his laundry done. The magical threshold between night and morning didn’t last forever, and it was the only time of day where it was just him, where he felt the most comfortable, where the dorm transformed into a place he could freely roam.

He was going to walk away, end the exchange with a shrug and continue on his way to the laundry room that was just down the hallway, but then he made eye contact. And saw just how interested the freshman was. How he looked at him with genuine interest and how it didn’t feel like he was under a microscope. How he just seemed so _open_. How he wanted Taeyong to keep talking and genuinely seemed approachable.

He could always do laundry tomorrow. Because he was interested in what this kid was doing, and what was in the otter notebook. If he was going to attempt a connection with someone his floor it only made sense he’d do it when he was most comfortable. When the usual walls were the most transparent.

Taeyong started again, “I don’t mind doing it this late. This is my favorite time of day…or night.” He set the mesh bag down as he took a seat across from Mark. This was going to take a while.

“I feel you. When I can’t sleep I usually just stay up and write.” Mark held up the notebook, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “It’s a little embarrassing but I’ve had this since I was a kid. And I couldn’t just leave it behind for a new one.”

Taeyong brings his knees up to his chest, unconsciously mimicking Mark’s posture.

“I have a notebook like that too. Mine has my puppy on it though.” Taeyong buries the smile showing while he speaks by crossing his arms on his knees, resting his nose on his forearms. She was a secret comfort these past four years, glued to the front of a simple black leather cover encasing almost full, worn pages.

“What do you write in it?”

Noticing the way Taeyong reflexively stiffened, Mark only realized half a beat later that maybe the question he had blurted out was too intrusive.

It _was_ intrusive. Who even asks that? Taeyong knew that just like his own notebook, Mark probably had things he’d never want anyone to ask him about between its pages. But this was a test drive. If he was really going to try to form lasting connections this year, what better way to start then by not doing the usual deflecting of random personal questions in a dorm hallway at 2 a.m.?

“Lyrics,” it was a start. Taeyong paused as he returned his gaze to Mark’s to gauge his reaction. “I’m interested in song-writing.”

Mark’s eyes-widened dramatically, pushing his legs out and leaning forward, as if he had just heard the best news of his life.

“Dude, me too!”

He had a whole common interest with the most low-key guy on their floor. So yeah it was a pretty big.

Before he could let Taeyong react, he added, “can I ask you a favor?”

Because was he truly Mark if he didn’t push his luck?

Who would’ve thought that Taeyong would be this amused by another person during the time he valued his solitude the most. So he might as well humor the kid.

“Depends. What is it?”

“Can you read some of my stuff?” Mark sticks the notebook out again, with expectant eyes. “It would mean a lot since, you know, you’re my senior and everything.”

How could Taeyong refuse? It was surreal Mark had showed up in the liminal experience that was a dorm hallway during abnormal hours, but instead of disrupting Taeyong, the underclassman had presented to him a low-risk chance for a mutual connection. So he played along.

“Only if next time, we could write something together.”

“Deal.”

 

 

**Room 905 – 3:11 a.m**

Yuta still thought it was unbelievable that bartenders couldn’t drink on the job. He could’ve sworn that wasn’t a real law. Because what else was he supposed to do behind the counter, on a slow Monday, when he wasn’t even scheduled with the cute servers? But he had to admit, practice always left him with a weak stomach, so maybe that dumb law was good for something.

The lifts had just opened to Floor 9, and he was eager to get out of his all black uniform and into a bed. He was about to turn to the right wing when he noticed the soft bass coming from the other side. It _was_ just after 3 a.m. right? None of the left-wingers were usually up this late. In fact, before following the sound—he couldn’t resist—he peeked down the right wing to see if Taeyong was doing laundry.

Disappointingly enough, the hallway was clear. So, he might as well see who was up, and playing what vaguely sounded like Maroon 5. Which could only mean it was coming from room 905—Doyoung.

It was the only door cracked a hair open, so he took it upon himself to walk in. Hopefully Doyoung didn’t have anyone over. But on second thought, he didn’t mind watching.

“You really should learn to lock your door. You never know who—or _what_ —could sneak up on you this late.”

“ _Please_ , you should learn how to knock.” Doyoung didn’t flinch from the unexpected company, which was rare, but judging from the head-ache inducing amount of paper strewn across the desk, he was too preoccupied to be his usual jumpy self. “What do you want?”

He had recognized Yuta’s voice immediately, not caring enough to turn and acknowledge him.

“Always such a warm welcome.” Yuta quipped, as he walked over to the twin bed perfectly made, itching to disrupt its perfection. He heard an almost inaudible _tsk_ come from Doyoung as he made himself comfortable, taking his shoes off and loosening the top buttons of his black button-up before taking a seat and cocking his head toward the music. “Isn’t this 2002 Maroon 5?”

“Mmm, that’s almost impressive. I always took you for the average uncultured swine.” Doyoung swiveled to face him, finally gifting the other with acknowledgement as he turned his back on whatever he was working on.

“Well, that depends on who you ask.” Chuckling, Yuta falls back into the bed, crossing his arms above his head. “Remember the night of move-in day where you were the only one who had his door open? I walked in and started talking about everyone and almost fucking gave you a heart attack? That was fun.”

Doyoung brings the pencil he was using up to his lips, “I guess Maroon 5 has you feeling nostalgic.” He presses the eraser lightly into his bottom lip, relaxing his posture into the desk chair. “Ok, I’ll bite, I need a break anyway. What do you want to talk about?”

Yuta propped himself up by his elbows as soon as Doyoung gave him the green light.

The corners of his mouth upturned with a childish grin before saying, “you mean _who_.”

Yuta, on top of being an idiot, was corny. But he was fun, so Doyoung gave the standard _mhm_ and nod, because he knew Yuta wouldn’t stop there.

“So, what the fuck is up with John, Ten and Jaehyun? Other than John being shit at charming anyone and getting his dick wet.”

“You just answered your own question.” Doyoung laughed, “everyone on the floor knows about Ten and Johnny’s sappy cuddling, but I honestly think something happened between him and Jae. I’m working on getting Johnny to tell me, because you know how easy he is to crack.”

“Well _shit_. No wonder he never comes down the right wing if he’s alone. _Juicy_.” Yuta was definitely going to use that against him this year. It was too easy.

“Speaking of Jaehyun, I don’t know how or why but I think Mark has a crush on him.”

“ _Mark_? Our little freshman? The same one that Sicheng texted me about setting the fire alarms off because he still uses Axe?”

Axe? Come on Mark. Doyoung knew he needed some work as soon as he had spotted the basic Northface this morning, but Axe?

“God, he really can’t help embarrassing himself. He’ll learn.” Mark had too, because Doyoung wasn’t going to allow him to turn into a Johnny.

“I can’t believe he has a crush on Jaehyun when a whole Taeyong exists.” Yuta let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like some poor fool in love after mentioning Taeyong.

But he wasn’t wrong. And Doyoung hadn’t seen Taeyong since Karaoke night last week. The truth was he was too embarrassed to face the fact that he had ended up serenading the upperclassman in front of everyone, just for Taeyong to disappear when the lights turned back on. Thankfully everyone else was too drunk to notice (he hoped).

“But I don’t _get_ him. And I can’t fucking stop thinking about his _face_.” Yuta continued, his tone turning whiney, “I think he’s still mad about the other night. _Ugh_. It wasn’t even that bad.”

“I mean…maybe you should…you know, say sorry for making him uncomfortable?” Rich, coming from him. Yuta wouldn’t let him live this down if the other boy found out he was giving advice he himself couldn’t go through.

“ _Ughhhhhh,_ you know I can’t do that.” He sighs deeply, oblivious to the way Doyoung had started chewing on his pencil the moment the conversation shifted to Taeyong. “Asking him out straight up would be the easiest, if I can ever catch him, and you know, give him that classic Yuta charm.”

“Classic, _right_.” Doyoung went back to face the piles of formulas he was working through as Yuta went quiet. “Don’t you fucking dare fall asleep in my bed. I’ll never forgive with you.”

“Too late.” Yuta mumbled into the bedsheets, knowing Doyoung had too much to get done to waste time throwing him out.

But Doyoung had already gone back to searing numbers into his memory even if it was a lost cause. Taeyong had already been mentioned.

So, Yuta hadn’t seen him again either, noted. God is this…a love triangle? What the fuck was he doing in a love triangle with the most mysterious guy on their floor and…Yuta. Out of all fucking people. A varsity soccer player, an elusive prince and him. Suddenly being Johnny didn’t seem so bad.

Wait, who was he kidding? Anything was better than being their awkward RA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a tweet mid September about someone's floor mate setting off the fire alarms for spraying a hazardous amount of Axe in their room, and just like that this dialogue and characterization practice was born! Honestly college/uni aus have always been personal favorites so it was only a matter of time before I wrote one myself. I had a lot of fun writing part one!
> 
> I'm probably going to put Floor 9 on hold for a bit since I'm working on a big romantic ten-centric johnten (I know, I know I need to get out of the johnten tag and stop being predictable) and I have to stop ignoring an early work I just left hanging. _But_ I will say the next part is going to be about the rookies who are floor mates in another dorm on campus. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone that read and enjoyed and suffered through typos and inconsistencies, I really do appreciate you. So much lmao. ❥

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, this is the first time I’ve written something more dialogue centric, with so many characters and with overlapping relationships so bear with me please ;; I hope you enjoyed the pilot!


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